CSI Redux

Chapter: Anatomy of a Lye Part 4

May 4, 2002

            Ben Weston…what a piece of work! For all his cleverness, for all his maneuvering and being “top in his class”, Ben Weston had proved to be an idiot. It had only taken Sara and Grissom three days to put the proverbial nail in his coffin concerning the death of Bob Martin. Sara suspected that Grissom’s highly tuned “Bad Guy Radar”, as the team jokingly but with a certain amount of awe, called Grissom’s innate abilities to zero in on a suspect had gone off upon meeting the slick lawyer. There was something in the way that he spoke with Weston that day in the man’s office, all smooth and cool, a pair of guys talking.

            It was misleading for a man like Weston, for anybody that didn’t spend hours upon hours a day with Grissom, it gave a false sense of …what exactly? Camaraderie? Safety? Sara wasn’t certain. It was like watching a Snake Charmer capture a cobra, using the reptiles own natural defenses against him. The pompous lawyer didn’t realize that with each lie he wove, he was simply swaying to Grissom’s music as the man built his case against Weston.

            “Hey, now it’s a party,” Weston snidely said, watching as Sara entered the interrogation room.

            The man was obviously unhappy about his circumstances but Sara would double down on a bet that Weston’s unhappiness was about to get a whole lot worse.  Stupid bastard, you were out of your league the minute we were called to that park. Sara almost sneered at that thought.          

            “And I brought the music.”

            Sara held up a micro-cassette recorder as she prepared to take the seat to Grissom’s right, her brown eyes quickly and nearly imperceptibly telling Grissom she’d brought the nail, all he would now have to do his swing the hammer and seal Weston in his casket. A cool, knowing glint shone in Grissom’s eyes, their silent communication functioning loud and clear.

            “You’ll be happy to know there were no long distance phone calls made on your cell phone,”

            Grissom’s voice almost had a lyrical quality about them, as if he wanted to hum a happy tune. To most it would sound as if the investigator was merely being jovial, friendly but to Sara it meant they were about to catch their man. Working with Grissom was an amazing experience. She learned something new almost every time she was paired with him and to watch his incredible mind work on a case…well, it was truly fascinating but this…this moment was Sara’s favorite. Watching as Grissom orchestrated and controlled the situation, allowing their suspect to slip the noose over his own neck without ever being aware of it.

            “But there was one call made, to 9-1-1 on 2:30am,” Grissom’s hand smoothly slid over to the cassette recorder Sara had laid upon the table. “On Tuesday, while your car was still in your possession.”

            Sara watched Weston’s nervous eyes follow the movement of Grissom’s hand. She wondered if he could hear the door slamming shut on his future? Did he replay all of his lies in his head in an attempt to figure out which one had been the one to damn? Sara didn’t wonder long as Grissom’s thumb pressed the play button on the recorder.

            “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

            “Please help me…I need help,”

Grissom watched as realization flooded Ben Weston’s face. He was out of moves. It was check and mate and regardless of whether he conceded defeat, he had already lost. The normally cocky lawyer slumped forward onto his elbows, his eyes searching the table in front of him. Grissom suspected he was desperately trying to hold it together, find a way out of the situation that his callous disregard had landed him.

            “Explain it to me, Ben,” Grissom almost demanded as he slipped his glasses off. “How does a lawyer rationalize something like this.”

            Sara could hear the barely concealed cynicism in Grissom’s voice. His disdain for Weston more apparent as he played out the cold events that surely must have transpired the night Bob Martin was run down by a slightly inebriated Ben Weston. Somehow, listening to Grissom orate the story in his cold, hard, sarcastic voice only made the crime seem more heinous to Sara.

            A knock at the door catches Sara’s attention before she is summoned to the hall by Officer Metcalf, the tall policeman letting her know with a single look and a simple “it’s relevant” that it is important to their case. Sara gives Grissom a quick look before following Metcalf from the room.

            “I sacrificed to get where I am,” Weston quietly pleaded, “My whole life was leading up to that day.”

            “Yeah, it’s tough,” Grissom said snidely, “but you know, people sacrifice things everyday but not everyone lets a man bleed to death in the dark, alone.”

            Weston’s eyes nearly looked haunted as he stared up into Grissom’s gaze but Grissom felt certain his anxious gaze was solely for himself. Ben Weston was a social parasite that fed of the rest of society for his needs. Whatever guilt the man had was probably for failing to hide his crime more thoroughly.

            Grissom sensed Sara’s presence more than heard her approach as she retook her seat at his side and handed him a sheet of paper. Something in the look she gave him told Grissom that this was a twist in the case but not to be alarmed. Slipping his glasses on to read the handwritten letter, Grissom couldn’t help but see the irony of this case. If Weston had stopped to render aid without thought to himself, regardless of whether he had been drinking or not, the outcome to the case would have been completely different because of frantic and sad scribbling of an overwrought man.

            Not for the first time during this case did Sara find herself listening to Grissom explain the law to the lawyer.  “This suicide letter,” she began, taking the letter back from Grissom, “was written by Bob Martin to his wife Charlotte. When you hit him Monday night…it wasn’t an accident.”

            Weston’s eyes grew wide as the full reality of the situation hit him.

            “You were of the hook,” Sara told him, her voice lacking any affect.

            “Until you let him die,” Grissom said, his tone mirroring Sara’s.

            Sara turned the glass door and motioned for Metcalf to enter. “We’re placing Mr. Weston under arrest,” she told the officer.

            Weston rose to his feet at Metcalf’s touch, his face revealing his disbelief his eyes still darting about as his mind questioned how he had come to this. The man’s arrogance couldn’t allow him to accept that his fate was set the moment he placed his car in his garage with Bob Martin wedged through the windshield. Weston kept trying to find fault somewhere else, in some piece of the puzzle that he must have overlooked. Grissom wondered if it made it easier for the man to sleep at night.

            Sara watched as Weston was led away before her attention was slowly drawn to Grissom as he examined Bob Martin’s letter.

            “I guess he thought his world was coming to an end,” Sara empathized.

            Grissom handed the evidence over to Sara as he stood from the table. Grabbing his case file, he solemnly said, “Worlds come to an end everyday. You just have to get up the next day and keep going.”

            Without looking at Sara, Grissom turned and left the room, his face grim as she watched him pass along the windowed corridor. He was right of course, worlds ended and lives were irreparably damaged, destroyed every day. She bore witness to it time and time again, their jobs put them on the frontlines and she’d fallen victim to it more times then she was willing to admit, even to herself.

December 9, 1995      

            Grissom rubbed his palms on his khaki covered thighs for the umpteenth time as he fought the urge to bounce his knee wildly. The blue tweed chair was comfortable enough, as far as waiting room chairs went, but his ass literally seemed repulsed by the chair. It was like he and the chair were magnetic opposites and Grissom just wanted to jump from the chair and start pacing.

            A gentle hand placed at his back had Grissom turning his head, his blue eyes a mixture of mild concern and surprise that quickly melted away at Sara’s amused look. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Grissom shook his head at his own nervousness, he normally wasn’t that…twitchy, Grissom thought.

            “Sorry,” he said, looking back as Sara with a self-conscious half smile.

            Sara rubbed several wide circles on his back before giving him a soft pat. “It’s okay,” she told him, finding it surprising how calm she felt.

            Three weeks before she was an emotional wreck, trying to figure out how to tell Gil about the baby, now she was comforting him as he was about to bounce through the ceiling of Dr. Oppinga’s waiting room. It was her first official appointment since discovering she was pregnant and while Gil was a giant bundle of nervous energy, Sara felt calm, serene, content to be sharing the moment with him.

            Grissom slid his hands down along his slacks again. “Does it normally take this long?” He asked, looking pointedly at Sara.

            Sara almost laughed at asked him how many ob/gyn appointments he thought she was a veteran of but thought better of it. The barely contained panic that glistened at the back of his beautiful eyes told Sara the normally unruffled man was on the edge. Instead Sara closed the magazine she had been perusing and focused her attention on Gil. Maybe if he had something to distract him he would feel better.

            “So what horrible thing did you have to promise Catherine in order to be here with me today?” Sara asked, knowing full well that Gil’s friend would undoubtedly charge him some favor for switching days off and covering for him until his plane arrived the following night.  

            Catherine was a good friend to Gil but she did enjoy making her husband squirm. Sara recalled the last time she had visited Gil in Vegas and how red faced he had gotten while relating being caught after their lunchtime quickie. Apparently Catherine was still getting mileage out of that one. Sara felt a little guilty that Gil was getting a good old ribbing from Catherine but not enough to regret the event that fueled it. Since becoming pregnant Sara felt like she was insatiable for her husband. It didn’t help matters that they only saw each other every six to eight days depending on work schedules.

            “That bad?” Sara asked with a smile, noting Gil’s annoyed expression.

            Grissom growled.

            “I have to go to Eddie’s birthday party at the Leather Garter Club,” he explained.

            Sara found his aggravation at having to go to a strip club both a little surprising and refreshing. “I would think most men wouldn’t have a problem with that kind of place.”

            “Yeah, well, it’s just one long tease without any possibility of a payoff,” he told her, adding quickly, “Not that I want to…want a payoff, that is.”

            Sara chuckled and leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder momentarily. “I know,” she whispered, knowing fidelity would never be a problem between her and Gil. “Why does Catherine put up with Eddie’s crap?”

            Grissom took Sara’s left hand in his, massaging the fingers softly while occasionally toying with her wedding ring. “I suppose she loves him,” Grissom said in contemplation. “And there is Lindsey to think about too. Maybe she figures a poor husband and father beats none at all.”

            A quiet fell over Sara that Grissom did not question but had he known the memories Sara’s mind began to travel he may have thought differently. Sara was well aware of poor husbands and fathers and truly hoped for Catherine’s sake that she would be strong enough and wise enough to see that some things are just not meant to be held on to. Like a burning iron, it is better to drop it and let it break than let it scald your hands.

            “Mrs. Grissom?”

            Grissom was on his feet before Sara had time to fully register the nurse’s call, pulling Sara gently to her feet. Lacing their fingers together, Grissom led Sara back through the door that separated the examining rooms from the waiting room. The excitement of the moment rolled off the two in waves as they traversed the narrow hall.

            Sara was about to hug Gil’s arm in excitement when she noticed a woman preparing to leave one of the room’s. She was about the same age as Sara and similar in appearance save for the red, puffy eyes and haunted look as she peered through the partially opened door her blue eyes causing Sara to grip Gil’s arm tightly to her side as if that would ward of whatever misery was emanating from that room.

            “Here you are,” the nurse told them, indicating the room they were to enter.

            With a few simple instructions the nurse left the two alone, promising to send the doctor in shortly. Grissom was immediately drawn to a poster on the far wall showing the various stages of pregnancy, his eyes keen as he read the information underneath each picture. When he got to the third and fourth month picture he turned and took in Sara’s abdomen, comparing her to the illustration. He was a worry-wart when it came to her and the baby and Sara adored him for it, even if it could be a bit annoying at times.

            Dr. Oppinga was a Maui transplant that fell in love with the San Francisco Bay area. His easy smile and gregarious personality put Sara at ease the moment she met him, at least as much as the circumstances allowed, her feet being up in cold metal stirrups.

            “Alright,” he said, giving Sara a hand up. “My only concern is your iron level. It’s a little low.”

            “I’ve been taking my prenatal vitamin,” Sara insisted, worried that she may have done something wrong.

            Dr. Oppinga smiled reassuringly. “Good, good. You and the baby are going to need those, so keep it up. I want you to be aware of it, maybe modify your diet slightly as you increase your calories. Do you eat seafood?”

            Sara nodded. “Not very often but occasionally.”

            “Well, let’s try and add some salmon and shrimp to your vegetarian diet and spinach, tofu and green leafies are always good,” he said with a smile.

            Sara nodded again, a determined frown creasing her brows.

            “Relax, Sara, you’re doing just fine,” Dr. Oppinga chuckled. “We’ll schedule you for your next visit in a month and you’ll be an old pro at this pregnancy thing by then, okay.”

            With a wink, the affable doctor left the room.

            Grissom jumped from his seat against the far wall, planting a quick kiss on Sara’s forehead he told her he’d be back in a moment before following the doctor out the door.

            “Dr. Oppinga,” Grissom called out quietly. “Are you sure everything is alright?”

            Dr. Oppinga gave Grissom a wide grin with his nod. “I hear you and Sara got married a couple of weeks ago,” he said, sliding to one side of the hall to make room for a nurse walking by.

            “Yes, November 7th.”

            “And you’ve been seeing each other for how long?” Dr. Oppinga asked, a twinkle dancing happily in his black eyes.

            “Almost a year,” Grissom informed him.

            “Well, then you know Sara. We will have to keep her from working to hard and she will have to make a concentrated effort to eat better,” Dr. Oppinga declared. “Aside from that she is in great health and overjoyed to be having your baby.”

            Grissom couldn’t stop the proud grin that erupted onto his face. “Thank you,” Grissom replied, convinced of the doctor’s sincerity.

            Sara sidled up to Grissom as Dr. Oppinga prepared to see his next patient, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling.

            “Make an appointment with Janet and I’ll see you in a month,” the doctor said, entering the next examining room.

            Grissom gave Sara a gentle hug and prepared to give her a kiss when he noticed her eyes searching the room a cross the hall from the room Dr. Oppinga had gone. The sad woman was gone but Sara could still sense her misery.

            “Honey?”

            Sara turned to see his concerned blue gaze watching her. Shaking the dark thoughts from her mind, Sara smiled and stole a quick kiss from his lips. “Nothing,” she said, taking his hand. “Come on, husband. Baby Grissom and I need food and later…maybe a little replay of last night’s fun and games.”

            Grissom arched a single brow at Sara’s comment before quickening their pace.

            “I’m always up for a good game,” he said, his innuendo quite clear, causing Sara to laugh throatily.